


and if i recover, will you be my comfort

by yosoyritmo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, This Is STUPID, cullrian - Freeform, im just going to deposit myself into the garbage now goodbye, this is gay im gay and i can only write gay things, this is just cullen thinking wow when did i get so damn gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yosoyritmo/pseuds/yosoyritmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen's mind has a tendency to wander under the cover of nightfall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and if i recover, will you be my comfort

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled, "it takes forever to fall asleep and things can get real gay when you're stuck in between sleep and consciousness for so long". i wrote this from 4AM - 7AM in the notes on my phone so it's very loosely formatted, and likely full of mistakes so if you notice anything wrong please point it out. comments and kudos are appreciated though not obligatory, but thank you so, so, so much if you do leave some!

Cullen draws in a long, deep breath as the gentle drag of sleep washes over him like the pull of the moon on the tide. There's the distant murmur of soldiers humming and slurring tavern songs as they walk the ramparts on the way back from a few too many drinks in the taproom. The background noise helps to lull him as he half-consciously tightens his grip around the waist of the body beside him, drawing a contented, sleepy hum from him. He presses a palm into the space between Dorian's shoulder blades, savouring the warmth of his skin, and in return the arm snaked loosely over his hip grips lazily onto the hem of his shirt and he feels a familiar moustache tickle his collar. One corner of his lips curls up into a small smile at the contact (he's ashamedly more ticklish than he could ever admit) while he tunes his ears instead to the sound of the breeze stirring the leaves of the tree climbing through the hole in his roof.

His intention was to have the hole fixed in the beginning, were it not for the countless other structures that needed repairing throughout southern Thedas; instead Cullen had decided that the Inquisition's priority was to focus on thatching the roofs over civilians' heads in towns wrecked by the havoc stirred by the Breach, Venatori or the growth of red lyrium. Lives with far more importance than his own. His office could wait. He didn't want to admit that he was also swayed by the fact that Dorian found the romanticism of gazing up at the stars as you fell asleep endearing -- perhaps he thought it was another quaint practice of Fereldan constitution rather than a personal idiosyncrasy -- but he found it exceptionally difficult to deny that Dorian did have... a rather drastic effect on him.

Cullen is sure that just thinking about the effect that he's had on him paints a high colour across his cheeks, or at least it would have if he weren't drifting in the peaceful stillness in between consciousness and sleep, the Fade not quite within grasp but close enough to make him feel weightless, always drifting, drifting until finally the far away sounds of the ebb and flow of the late night business of Skyhold fade entirely and dreams take him even further.

The Fade is not the most pleasant of places, under any circumstances, really, but falling asleep with Dorian wound around him makes it different, easier; the normally pungent air softens, easing the thick cloying and clinging at Cullen's skin as though Dorian's arm around his waist is a barrier like the protection spells he casts in battle, like the tips of his fingers gently pressing into the small of his back keep an enchantment held around him, warding off the demons and shadows his mind seems to draw close so eagerly when he's alone.

After only ever having bad experiences with magic his whole life, Cullen was still wary of the dangers of it, but if Dorian really were keeping him under protection in sleep (which seemed awfully ridiculous and unlikely the more he played with the idea) then his scepticism would undoubtedly be eased. In fact, he would welcome such an enchantment -- Maker knows he needed it. Sleeping without at least one period of restlessness at some point was a rare commodity thanks to lyrium and the symptoms of its withdrawal. Night terrors didn't help matters. But, the voices of his past seemed to actually _be_ in the past with Dorian held close and for that Cullen can't articulate with words of any civilised language how much he values him.

Dorian. Self-assured, sad Dorian, convinced he was nothing more than a defective product of the Pavus dynasty, everything his family could have wished for in a perfect world, and everything they prayed would never happen. Oh, how Cullen searched in every corner and crevice of his mind for a way to adequately show Dorian how he was so much more than that, more than just a product that can't be returned if found to be faulty, more than just another "corrupt Tevinter magister" that the masses assumed -- or rather expected -- him to be. He was so, so, so much more and it made Cullen infinitely frustrated that he could never find words or actions to express just how much Dorian meant to him. Dorian, who indulged him with their regular games of chess, who stayed by his side when tremors made him unsteady, who would card fingers through his hair when headaches made work undoable. Andraste preserve him, Cullen almost certainly did something to embarrass himself every time he was around Dorian, and he made himself cringe when he realised that Dorian was always on his mind, even under the cover of sleep.

But he did love him. With all his heart.

He loved him.


End file.
